Something's Afoot
by Hoodoo
Summary: B.A. buys Murdock a pair of iconic shoes.  Challenge response from the A-Team Meme over on LJ; implied relationship but nothing explicit.


Disclaimer: no recognizable characters or trademarked objects are mine.

This was written as a challenge response on the A-Team Kink Meme to fill an old, unfilled prompt. Prompt was: There's somethiing missing from movie!Murdock: his high-top Chuck Taylor's! Write a ridiculously sweet movie!verse scene in which B.A. gives Murdock a pair of the shoes.

Well, I don't know about ridiculously sweet, but here you have it. And FYI, implied but not explict slash as well.

Enjoy!

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><p>B.A. always wondered. He always meant to ask. It was just something that never had a perfect opportunity to come up.<p>

But even after getting to know the crazy fool first as The Guy Who Tried To Kill Him, then as The Guy Who Makes Hand Puppets But Hannibal Trusts, then as The Guy Who Grills a Damn Fine Steak And Is A Good Comrade, then as The Guy Who Talks In Somewhat Annoying Accents And Is Funny And Handsome, and finally as The Guy Who Tried to Kill Him But I Can't Live Without, B.A. still never got around to asking Murdock about those damn boots.

When they were on base, he never even noticed it. When they were out, living free, high on the mercenary life (Murdock put a gilded twist on it), there was too much else to worry about at first. Staying ahead of the MPs, finding places to live and finding work was paramount.

B.A. _did_ notice it after their second escape. He never figured out how Face managed to scam Murdock's cardboard box of personal effects from the German VA hospital; it was something else he probably should ask about some time, for curiosity's sake. But the pilot's beloved leather jacket was there, and paper thin t-shirts, and some Lego men and a quill made of a crow feather, and his worn out, broken down army boots.

His ugly boots with the crack through the left sole, the ones with the laces that were frayed to the point of threatening to break if the wind blew on them too hard.

He thought he got it at first. They were on the run! They didn't have the time or the money to spare on something frivolous like shoes! They weren't women, needing new footwear every other day (B.A. excluded Face from that statement)!

Later on, he amended his initial assessment.

Yes, they were still on the run. Yes, they still lived out of duffel bags most of the time. Yes, they still had to be careful about spending money.

But they could afford to buy shoes, damn it.

Maybe if Murdock's boots were comfortable, it would make more sense that he held on to them. They weren't. After he caught the pilot hissing as he removed them and rubbing feeling back into his toes, B.A. took over and any night after they'd been on their feet all day he'd massage the aches and pains away.

Murdock practically melted when his big, callused hands kneaded the soreness out of his feet. It made B.A. happy that his man was happy.

So comfort wasn't it. And he'd seen Murdock staring wistfully at a rack of shoes in the department store Face insisted they stop at so he could pick up a new tie.

B.A. had _almost_ said something to Murdock then about just getting a pair, but Murdock seemed to psychically know when he was going to open his mouth, and moved away from the shoe section to become engrossed in a selection of cuff links.

It wasn't the last time B.A. spotted him captivated by footwear in a store. Still, he never went so far as to even pick up a pair, let alone buy some.

Finally B.A. decided enough was enough.

After an especially sweet rough-and-tumble playtime in their big shared bed (it _was_ Murdock's birthday, after all, and if he wanted long, drawn out love-making, who was B.A. to deny him?), the two lay sated and content. Murdock was still wrapped partially around him, his long fingers mapping out some unknown alphabet on his chest.

B.A. cleared his throat.

"Crazy, I just wanted to let you know—"

Murdock lifted his head and looked directly down on him.

"—that I, uh, got you something. For your birthday."

It took a lot to surprise Murdock, but his announcement did.

"You did?" he asked, blinking and furrowing his brows in confusion. Then the expression fled and he laughed. "Of course you did! Same amazing thing you got me for Valentine's Day—your big, delicious co—"

B.A. shook his head and interrupted. "No. I got you a real present."

Murdock tried to laugh it off again—B.A. knew him well enough now to see that he was nervous—and this time B.A. didn't even try to dissuade the jokes and instead shimmied out of the warm pocket they'd created to reach under the bed and pull out a wrapped gift.

The pilot had gone quiet.

Because Murdock didn't move to take it, B.A. physically set it against his chest.

"Well?" he said, pushing the box into Murdock a bit. "Open it."

B.A. wasn't pleased with the trepidation his man used to break the tape and pull off the paper, but he wasn't in anyway prepared for the startled look and . . . and . . . he couldn't put his finger on the expression Murdock glanced up at him with as the pilot flipped the lid and saw the Converse Chuck Taylors showcased there.

"Bosco . . ." Murdock's voice was one shade above a whisper.

B.A. got the distinct impression there was something wrong.

"Got you black because that'll go with more things than a color would. Face told me that," he said to fill the awkwardness. "I think they'll fit—had to sneak a look at your shoe size. Maybe the size is wrong, everything in your boots is faded and the numbers were hard to read—you gotta get rid of those boots, man, they're _awful!__"_

Oh cripes, he was babbling.

"My boots?" Murdock asked, his voice still faint.

"Yeah! Your boots!"

This was rapidly downshifting into something B.A. never wanted to have happen: Murdock slipping off the edge of their reality. He hated the feeling of helplessness when his man had breakdowns; he hated that he couldn't be stronger for Murdock and keep him grounded.

The big man eased the box away from Murdock. "It's okay, baby," he murmured soothingly. "I just thought—with your boots being all old and beat up—"

As his fingers touched the present, Murdock clutched at the box.

"My boots . . ." the pilot repeated.

He looked directly into B.A.'s face, and B.A. was startled to see tears welling in his green eyes.

"Oh, hey now," he said immediately, and relinquished the box to take Murdock's hands instead.

Murdock shook his head. B.A. used his thumb to wipe away the line of wet that coursed down one of the pilot's cheeks. Murdock gave a shaky, feeble laugh.

"My boots!" he said, for the third time with the third inflection, and caught his breath like he was going to say more.

B.A. let him go at his own pace.

Murdock dropped his eyes to the shoes in the box again. "Those were issued after Hannibal got me re-instated. Standard old government-tested-and-approved Army boots. Nothing special. Just the same as everyone else—that's the point, in the military, isn't it?"

Even though he didn't seem to require a confirmation, B.A. gave a small head nod and half-shrug. Murdock nodded too, and continued.

"But . . . they were more than that. For me. Those boots . . . they were the first pair of shoes I had that I was able to actually tie. The first I could tie for _so_ _long.__"_

B.A. frowned. Murdock saw the expression.

"They don't let patients have lace-up shoes," he explained softly. "In the ward you either have just socks or slippers—they don't like people going barefoot, either. If you got to go out—outside or out on a field trip or something—you had to wear shoes with Velcro.

"Even if you weren't a risk to yourself or others, no one was allowed to have shoes with laces."

A rock lodged in B.A.'s throat and he struggled to talk around it. "Oh, baby," he whispered, and tightened his grip over Murdock's hands. The box buckled slightly.

Murdock pinched his lips together for a moment. He managed a shaky breath and smile at the pressure from his lover's hands.

"So those boots . . . they were just something more than dumb old Army boots to me. They were proof I was out, they were proof I was—_am_—trusted. Those ratty old boots evidence I was actually here in the real world and not some twisted immersion therapy the shrinks cooked up for me.

"I know that they're broken and worn out and worthless, but in my jacked up head I thought if I gave them up, all this would turn out to be an illusion and I'd wake up back in one of those places."

B.A. shoved the shoebox out of the way and gathered his weeping man into a crushing embrace. Murdock's stuttered breath was hot on his chest.

When Murdock had control over himself, B.A. gently took the back of his head and lifted it. He pressed his forehead against the pilot's.

"You're out, this is real," he whispered.

They were too close together for him to see fine detail of his lover's face, but B.A. could sense the pain and subtle disbelief.

He repeated the statement, and added that he was here for him. That he loved him.

A shuddery little gasp escaped Murdock and the pilot's mouth was on him. B.A. returned the kiss and tried to pour all the devotion and sweetness and fondness he could muster into it.

* * *

><p>The next day, the two of them burned the old, cracked boots in a bonfire until nothing was left but ash.<p>

B.A. slowly walked back to the house.

Murdock poked at the embers with a stick until B.A. called for him, and then he danced his way back in to the warmth and security of the house and his man.

Chucks were good for dancing, he decided.

_fin._


End file.
